February 27, 2005

Bone Crushers

I have this very weird habit of turning up in the same colour clothes as my best friend. We take 'sam ling siong tung' to a whole new dimension. Therefore, it should've been no surprise that we'd both be stuck in the same emotional dilemma at the same time.

Insane urge to swear is rising again, damnit.

Anyway, I'm not gonna talk about it anymore (privacy issues), so I'll just blog about something that I hate doing: shaking hands.

Usually when I meet someone I try to deflect the inevitable social practice of shaking hands by lifting my right hand and waving it around, kinda like the way you say goodbye to a kid, y'know? Unfortunately, being the bastards that they are, they always grab my right hand and give it an energetic pump before giving it back to me.

Okay, so it's commonly accepted that people shake hands when they meet, and they're not really bastards for doing it, but damn I hate having my hands shaked. I hate people who have a limp, wet (from sweat) grip. I hate people who grip so hard my fingers are squashed together and tears form at the corners of my eyes. I hate people who pump so hard it feels my arm socket's gonna come off. But most of all, I utterly, utterly hate people who grip hard and pump hard.

So, question time. What the heck is the common practice? Are you just supposed to grip till the other guy screams and chews off his arm from the wrist, or are you supposed to move your hand in an upward and downward motion (ooh, jackoff 101) while having a fake smile plastered on your face? Would it be bad form to completely ignore the hand offered and say hi with a sincere smile instead?

Can you believe I did 2 years of Business? *shakes head*

What do you do when you're locked out of your house?

Happened today, when me and the Oaf came home with no house keys. Granma didn't answer the door cos she way busy yakking on the phone, and couldn't hear her handphone ring cos it was in the kitchen. After calling our parents, we had to wait outside the house in the corridor.

After talking for 10 minutes, we got bored and started a Bollywood dance routine with massively-exaggerated hip movements and wide toothy grins. Music was playing in my head, which, in retrospect, doesn't really augur well for my state of mind, but who cares about my sanity anyways?

Unfortunately, our road to international stardom ala Aishwarya Rai was thwarted when some guy and his girlfriend walked up the stairs. Stares are not conducive to dancing, unfortunately.

Some people can be so rude. *grumbles*

February 26, 2005

With half a foot into the future...

First of all, if you can't somehow figure out what the title of this post means, don't bother asking me, cos I have no idea either. I have a bad habit of saying things without knowing what they mean. Depending on your perspective, it either makes me very mysterious or very stupid.

So yesterday we went to a cafe called 69, which is located somewhere behind Times Square. The main reason we went there was because JW said there was this guy there who did horoscope readings. If you don't believe in prediction bullshit, this is not a post you should be reading.

The guy, who's seriously pretty and cute, complete with funny (in a good way) little mannerisms and gestures, did our readings for us. The first thing he said to me was, "You are a person who does not believe in fortune telling. I do not do fortune telling. Instead, I will analyse your personality and tell you about yourself, because your personality determines your future."

Hokay, I was thinking, what a bunch of gobbledygook. Quit with the whole philosophy thing and get on with it. He then asked me my name, DOB and started flipping his little book that was filled with Chinese characters. He also wrote some stuff on a piece of paper that gave a whole new definition to the term 'cakar ayam'. If I had my camera software installed I'd take a pic of the piece of paper and post it here. Unfortunately, I can't find my CDs, so it'll have to wait.

Stuff he (Simpson, if I got that right) got right:
I do not like responsibility
No one fought as hard as me against my modship in BF, I'm told. Harhar, with power comes responsibility, and I'd rather just have a laid-back experience rather than having to worry about stupid idiots who can never find the Edit button even though it's staring them right in the face. I'm getting used to it now though.

I do not like stress (which probably comes from responsibility)
Like I said, laid-back is good.

I do not plan for the future
So I am a happy person, sez Simpson, because I do not attempt to analyse or predict things that are completely out of my control. Unfortunately, it also means I am a person who does not have a clue what I'm going to do because I take winging it to the extreme.

I do not play mind games
I don't like people who keep me guessing and who try to trip me up with wordplay or manipulation. Simpson says that doesn't mean I don't know if people are playing mind games with me, though I think he may be over-crediting my intelligence. This probably explains why I have no patience for guys who have to wait x number of days before contacting me after we go out.

I like things straight to the point
Simpson says I don't like to waste my time, so I don't like people who beat around the bush.

I am blunt
Which results in a lot of hurt feelings if the person I'm with doesn't know me very well.

I don't like people who make a promise and then don't keep it
Similarly, I don't promise anything to anyone unless I intend to keep it. I expcet that if you say you'll do something, you'll follow up with it, and if I say I'll do something, then I'll see it through too.

Things he got wrong:
I don't like being with my family
Wrong. My family is the most important part of my life, and I'm not staying with them because of necessity.

I am an optimistic person
I'm one of the most negative and cynical people I know, so that's not right.

That's about it. I'll go into my friend's reading, but that would make this so long that even fans of granma stories won't read it. Moral of the story? I paid RM25 for the horoscope drink just to hear someone tell me stuff I already know. Yayness.

On a sidenote: Thoughts are with T right now. Hope things get better soon.

February 25, 2005

See, orginally I had a long ass post, but just as I was about to publish it something happened and my Opera shut down. Crossing my fingers, I reopened it and my post was gone. Half an hour of my life, gone just like that. Fuck.

Anyway, instead of doing one of those weird little posts I'm so fond of writing, I'm just gonna say that I'm on my study break now, and my first exam will be on next Friday. Being that I'm me, I guess I'll start studying somewhere around Wednesday, which is definely not good news cos this sem I have 3 heavy subjects and I've missed more classes than I can afford to.

So what do I do with the remaining time I have to catch up on my lessons? I hit a gay bar tonight with my friends. The I go eat supper. Then I go yamcha. Then...depending on whether I get an SMS, I'll either stay out later or go home and drop dead.

I'm trying to pack my weekend full so I don't have to read any of the boring academia potheads and their theories. Enough time next week. I'll even say yes to the dog if he wants me to take him out for his regular neighbourhood liason with the whores in heat, and I hate watching animals hump.

I've decided that for the rest of the month, my motto will be "Exams? What exams? To hell with it. To hell with it all!"

February 24, 2005


Hey, you're not naked!
This is an FAQ about my blog, so there'll be no naked pics of anyone around. Feeling cheated? Tough nuts. :)

On a sidenote: That pic is my avatar in BlizzForums, which I suspect is the reason why people there now know that if you click on the avy it takes you to the profile page. I giggle every time I receive a PM about it, heheh. Can't believe I'm actually 22, can you? It's no biggie, just a little sensationalism. :) If you're from BF, Saffron porn does not exist, so you can stop dreaming.

Why do I write?
In my spare time, I like to pretend I'm a columnist, so I have stuff lying all over my folders. Some of the posts here are old, between a few months to a few years. I'd like to be cool and say I don't write for other people, only for myself, but I get a kick if I get more than 3 comments per post, so that shows what a shameless attention-whore I am.

At first I was kind of uncomfortable with the idea of exposing myself to people I don't know, because, well, it just makes me uncomfortable to know that someone I don't even know exists knows about my alcoholicness and that I am a scaredy-cat. This is the reason why it took me a few months to finally decide to advertise on PPS.

After reconciling myself to the fact that I am vain and crave attention, advertising on PPS was probably the smartest thing I ever did. :)

When did the blogging bug bite you?

In 2002, when Johann and Bryan asked me to be a staff writer at Healthy Frowns, a now-dead blog. They're both Yankees, and being that the Land of the Free is notoriously immoral, I suspect they were both drunk and high when they popped the question, but lets not get into that now.

After HF closed, I was only a forummer, not a forummer/blogger, and I never realised there was a Malaysian blogosphere thing around. I also never went searching for one, cos frankly the idea just never occured to me. I'm like those cartoon characters that go "Eh?" and scratch their heads when they see the shadow of a giant boulder growing bigger and bigger on the ground where they're standing on.

What's this blog about?
My life. One thing you will NOT see here is the fiery debates I used to get into in BlizzForums, because I don't feel like spending 3 hours to do research anymore. Also, there's no Raptor here saying stupid things to piss me off, so I'm nice and zen-like most of the time.

Mostly the topics are about stuff that I find interesting, though Nub once commented about the amazingness of my ability to stretch what can be said in one sentence into three paragraphs. That's what they teach you in college, dearie, only they call it academic writing. And it may be three paras, but they're three entertaining paras.

Topics will range depending on my mood, but I suppose you should be told that I have strong opinions about abortion, gay rights, and treating people with respect. I have a problem with people who refuse to even acknowledge that other people's opinions may be as valid as their own, and hypocritical religious bastards. I am also pretty judgemental and stubborn, though that doesn't mean I won't hear you out. It just means I've already made up my mind and am probably not going to change it. Other than that, I'm a pretty nice girl. :)

Rest assured that if I ever blog about something controversial (which would probably never happen), the comment section will be left open. It won't be fair if I'm the only one who gets to say things, even if I'm the owner of this blog. I don't believe in censorship, since if you're old enough to understand me then you're old enough to think like an adult. Missives will be replied in the spirit which they are lobbed at me, so don't cry when I completely own your ass. :)

What's with all the numbers?
27th and 6th are important dates. 27th is my birthday, and now that you know I expect at least a greeting from you, heheh. 6th is The Oaf's birthday, and he's sorta important, being that he's the one who drives me to school, so he gets the honour of being on the top of this site.

The bitter irony is I absolutely hate numbers. That's why I'm in Mass Comm, no math here. :) The bitterer irony is that I actually spent 2 and a half years doing finance, quantitative analysis, management accounting and other numbery stuff like that.

Why is there no sitemeter thing on your blog?
The last time I put one in, I didn't like the idea of knowing how many people I don't know were reading stuff about my personal life, so I took it out again. Now I don't have to worry about whether the stuff I write is too personal or too weird, cos I don't know if anyone's actually reading it.

Cypher got it right when he said "Ignorance is bliss," but only if you're sorta-anal like me. :)

If you've linked to me and don't see a link back on my sidebar, I'm probably not aware of it. Refer to the part about clueless cartoon characters getting crushed by giant rocks, thx. Drop me a note somewhere so I know. Contact info is on sidebar.

Why is there no picture of you anywhere?
Because I'm afraid my face would scare off my reader base. :)

I'd entertained thoughts of putting my mugshot here, but then that would mean I cannot write about embarassing personal stuff anymore, cos if someone saw my pic and read my blog and saw me in walking in a pasar malam, they'd snicker, and I hate to have people snickering behind my back. It's so insensitive.

Your site looks weird
That's because I'm using Opera, and if I publish my post and it looks fine, I'm going to assume it looks fine for everyone. What're you doing with IE anyway? Get Firefox or Opera, they're much more secure.

This blog exists because of:
Lance, who made the sidebar pretty.
Elcap, who taught me some html stuff and was very, very patient.
Nub, who fiddled with my html and made my text nice and readable. Also helped me with the Support Jeff Ooi banner before switching templates removed it.
Arion, for checking stuff for me and giving me suggestions with the blog topics.
Seanna, for banner help as well.

Everyone here has my password to this blog, so if anything happens to it I know who to blame. :)

This little FAQ has made me happy, cos I can indulge in my fantasy of being famous and important enough that people would want to know the story behind this blog. Not a bad way to spend the afternoon, I say.

February 23, 2005

Sepet the Movie


The thing about being an impatient, bad driver (that's me) is that I already know what's going to happen to motorcyclists who zoom in and out of traffic.

Yesterday, I was invited to the premiere of Yasmin Ahmad's Sepet because, well, I dunno why, but I'm still thankful nonetheless. I'm also thankful that my nameless benefactor sat next to me and whispered little titbits of information to me while I was watching the movie, which was invaluable because then the ah-soh, gossipy me can fume about what was cut from the film. I'm not going to go into the banality of the Board, cos that's a widely-known fact. I just wish they'd make public the mugshots of the people who populate said Board so we know when to give them a wide berth should we ever have the misfortune to meet any of them in public.

I like the poem in the starting scene, and it helps if you understand mandarin cos the subtitles are fine as they are, but the nuances are better grasped if you understand the language. Or maybe that's just me trying to show off.

Certain scenes got me laughing even though it wasn't that funny because that's what I usually do when I'm trying to annoy my brother, like dancing around him energetically just as the legions of Roman centurions are about to crush his puny armies.

Orked was very good. Very, very good. And she has nice straight hair right from a shampoo advertisement. Loong (first-time actor) was a little wooden, but then I think he was trying to play the shy, awkward out-of-his-depth guy-in-love part and overshot it a bit. Guys in love can read love letters with emotions too. Oh well, I suppose over-wooden is better than melodramatic.

It's really too bad that the scene where Loong really sparkles is the scene where I don't understand more than half the dialogue. I'm told the double entendres were lost in the translation, so here's another reason to blame my family for not teaching me Hokkien during my formative years.

Keong is cool. Anyone who can think of jacking off even as his right arm is in a cast deserves an honourary mention. *grins* Orked's family also provides a very nice distraction from the expositional sections.

And I believe I do like the alternative ending better. :)

For a comprehensive review written by a pro, please visit TV Smith's Sepet Movie Review. For the movie's official website, please click here.

Buy a ticket and watch Sepet when it's released. Buy a ticket even if you don't have time to watch. It's only the price of a cup of over-priced coffee that's so popular around town, and our arts are worth more than that.

If I had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day...

In the spirit of this blog, I will now talk about Valentines day after it's been over for a week.

If I had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day...
...There will be none of the following:
    Flowers of any variety
    Store-bought cards
    Stuffed toys
    Candle-light dinner
    Romantic dinner
    In fact, any other dinner in places where jeans are frowned upon
    Sickly sweet nicknames like Darling and Honey

...The perfect Valentine's day gift would be:
    WoW starter pack and a 6-month access fee, fully paid
    Family dinner
    Bungee jumping
    Marathon roller-coaster ride together-gether.
    10 Things I Hate About You/Dogma DVD
    Leatherbound copy of Little Women
    Leatherbound copies of the entire Anne Shirley series
    Walk around the neighbourhood and have Ramli burgers for dinner
    Watching sappy chick flicks together-gether
    Purple velvet-lined handcuffs (because they are cool and pimp-ish)

...And the old fallback:
    running over to Little Genting and doing the whole false flash thing again. Hopefully I won't be too old for this by the time I get a boy-boy of my own.

Hmmm...Making a list based on fantasies is pretty fun.

February 21, 2005

A Scientific Approach to Fantasies

Fantasies. Everyone has em, most of em are sick and twisted, and a lot of people will lie about em. This is a tongue-in-cheek 101 guide to how to articulate your darker desires without (hopefully) you ending up having to surgically remove the charred jagung stuck to your forehead.

In matters involving life and death, obviously timing is very important. If you're notorious for doing the wrong things at the wrong time, obviously you might want to practice more before embarking on this perilous journey. Like maybe level up on your good-timing aptitude.

Examples of good timing: right after you've done something incredibly sweet for her, like maybe the dishes, without her having to ask. Orgasms are pretty good too.

Examples of bad timing: football halftime. In fact, doing anything (except the dishes) during halftime is a pretty bad idea.

The way you articulate your desires is also fairly important. Like they keep telling us in my course, communication is the most important aspect of human life. Without communication, we'd still be organised like a society of mute monkeys and swing from tree to tree happily, complete with cute little waggedy tails. Of course, this way males will then retain a very important part of their anatomy as well: their hearing.

The gist of the point is to pick your words very carefully. This is not a situation where you just blurt stuff out and hope for the best. Nay, even myself, the Queen of Winging It, would advise against it in this case because it could very well involve another very important part of your anatomy: the family jewels. The keyword here is practice. And rehearse. But don't make it sound too stilty or you're screwed (in a bad way) as well.

For example, it's fine to ask her to be Princess Leia, but it's definitely not okay to ask her to be Angelina Jolie, even if you temper it by asking her to play Tomb Raider.

The only tomb you'll be raiding will be your own, babe.

Instead, you can ask for Lara Croft and hope that she tries the Jolie route while doing research. Of course, she may have done too much research and end up looking scarily similar to a pixellated babe with a seriously deformed body, complete with twin Uzis and grunts. Either way, I figure you win.

Remember, the Cardinal Rule is that fantasies about other people are fine as long as you don't ask her to actually be someone else (real) while you're going at it.

Finally, we come to the point of place or location. If you've nailed timing and communication, screwing up the place could still throw a monkey wrench into the works. Naturally, you want to approach the slightly-taboo topic of fantasies in a location where you're fairly comfortable. That rules out your mother-in-law's house because a) her mother might overhear you, b) you do not think about sex when her mother's in the area, c) her dad may have agreed to let you marry his daughter, but it doesn't mean he'll be equally agreeable to you asking her to dress up as Little Red Riding Hood, and d) her father may secretly own an arsenal of dangerous firearms.

Examples of good places: Bedrooms, because it's comfortable, or a nice quiet cafe. Basically anywhere you can talk without shouting is good. Beware of eavesdroppers though.

Examples of bad places: MIL's house, kitchen (knives = bad), nursery (childbirth = painful. Don't literally remind her about what would ensue if an accident accidentally happened) and places where there are charred jagungs lying around within easy reach.

And so, with this little beginner's guide, I'm sure the process of realising your needs will go much smoother and with much less losing of important limbs. Therefore, I shall end on this note and bid you good luck, and farewell.

jagung - corn

This article is mainly written for males because a woman who articulates her desires is a godsend and will therefore need no help in getting her fantasies realised. Even if she demands that her guy take a day off from work and spend a day involving a bed, silk ties and an ice-cube, he'd probably still do it.

February 18, 2005

Day 1:
Hum-drum boring stuff, visiting relatives I haven't seen since, well, the last CNY. Endured the standard wah-so-tall! routine from grinning relatives sweating in chinese-style red RED clothes. These people actually wear them by choice. On the other hand, I don't stick out like a sore thumb. Or maybe I do, on account of the pukey greenness.

Day 2:
More visiting, cheers. At least we got to gamble here, and won about RM5. We were entertaining the younger kids who only bet 10 sen. God, the good old days when I used to make 10 sen wagers. Food sucked, went home and cooked maggi. Mom said we made her feel guilty, so note to self is to stuff face next year even though it's killing me.

Day 3:
Got drunk. Don't remember much.

Day 4:
Went to youngest auntie's house. Her super husband (who can build rattan sofa sets from scratch, knock down walls, replaster them professionally with cement, cook a mean steak, drink like 10 sailors, fix doors, make firecrackers) cooked dinner for the entire clan, which comes up to about 20 people. Roughly. The menu was varied, from chicken maryland to lamb chops with lime sauce to fish and chips to juicy steaks. And they were GOOD.

I had 1 serving of lamb chops with lime sauce, 1 grilled prawn platter, 1 standard grilled lamb chop and 3 bites of steak from my 2nd aunt's plate. It would be prudent to note that almost everyone had second servings, so I'm not really as gluttonous as that first sentence sounds. The food was really good. Also moonlighted as a waitress cos uncle couldn't keep track of the orders. As a result of my good deed, I managed to stop a covert attempt to hijack my prawns (they were very limited), and I got unlimited supply of Heineken cos the bottles were right in the kitchen, whoohoo!

After-dinner entertainment consisted of playing contraband firecrackers. Heineken bottles are good for sticking rockets in so that you don't blow off your fingers. C'mon, common sense. Mild excitement ensued when my cousin brother threw one of those bomb-like thingies and it rolled almost under a neighbour's car. Everyone survived, including the car. Uncle bought one of those huge containers of fireworks that cost RM50, and it went off like those RM3 million fireworks display. Beautiful.

Spent the rest of the night drinking warm Heineken and playing Blackjack. Finally found uncle's Achilles heel: he cannot gamble to save his life. Have taken to calling him Choi San Yeh.

Day 5:
Bro kacau-kacaued and convinced my mom to gamble money while playing mahjong. I don't gamble money in mahjong cos I like to keep my cards and make sets even though I can win by chi-ing the numbered tiles. Which translates to: if I play money I will lose. Big time.

Since it was the oaf who suggested it, I figured I can afford to lose 10 bucks. Surprisingly I was the big winner, muahahaha. Lesson in life #76: no skill nevermind. Nothing beats pure luck. Lesson in life #77: luck is fickle. Do not gamble.

Went to maternal uncle's house at night. Stuffed face with more prawns, yum yum.

Choi San Yeh -- God of Prosperity. Has something to do with money.
Mahjong -- Chinese gambling game with ivory tiles. If you don't understand me then you're probably not a player, and mahjong cannot be explained here if I want to keep this under 1k words.

I love my youngest auntie and her husband. They're like uber cool. They have a fridge upstairs that holds nothing but beer and wine. Read that sentence again. How cool is that? Uncle is also very easy-going and generous, auntie's funny. Haha funny. I've never spent such an enjoyable time in a relative's house before. Lesson in life #98: alcohol is the ultimate cure-all. With enough alcohol, world hunger and the Middle East can be easily kau timed.

February 15, 2005

Said the cynic...


There, my obligatory tribute to the season of love. Now to figure out WTF I'm doing up at 8 on a day I don't need to go to school...

February 07, 2005

I can tell it's going to be a good year

Today, at an undisclosed location...

Auntie: Eh, Ah Laine, I heard from your mummy you haven't bought CNY clothes yet hor?

My spider sense tingling, I answered meekly, "Yes, auntie. No time to go shopping lately." I am always meek with my relatives. Keeps up the good girl image, muahahaha. Anyways...

Auntie said, "I got something for you. Come, come."

Little did the meek little girl know that she was walking straight to her doom.

Inside one of the many rooms at the previously undisclosed location...

Auntie was rummaging in a cupboard. "See, I bought this from China one, thought want to give to you for CNY."

Me, thinking deep thoughts. Whenever relatives go to China, they always come back with tacky and completely inapropriate stuff. Shiny kitschy China-style clothes with frog buttons should only be worn by non-living things (like Hello Kitty dolls and dead relatives), and I don't want fake jade, thank you very much.

After Auntie removed almost all the contents of the cupboard, she pulled out something. As far as I could see, it was a piece of green cloth. Then she turned it over and I gasped.


Auntie: See, this one is good quality cloth, not silk so it won't stick to you when you sweat. CNY mah, sure sweat a lot cos so hot. You must remember to wear sunscreen okay?

I'm sure she said more, but I was in a state of total and complete shock. All I could think off was there's no way I could get out of wearing this for Chor Yat cos we have to visit this auntie on that day, and she would expect to see me in it. I nodded along with a frozen rictus plastered on my face as I ran through all the possibilities, including faking stomach aches and arson. Thankfully, years of drilling and indoctrination at the hands of a sergeant major aka maternal granma meant I could fake decorum even as my insides were churning in a diarrhea-ish way. Oh well, spider in a web. Maybe I should just grin and bear it, after all, it's only a piece of clothing.

I hope the contortion of my features passed for joy and happiness, cos (not so deep) inside all I could think of was, "Please, if there is a god, kill me. Kill me now."

Oh look, I didn't die.

15 minutes spent modelling that piece of...thing for my auntie, much to the amusement of my cousins. Oaf was smart enough to realise I would deliver a flying kick to his groin and completely decimate his balls if he so much as snickered, so he was the model of serenity. At certain times, I don't give a shit if he's the only one to continue the family line. Piss off the tai ka cheh and there'll be hell to pay.

Back to The Thing. Another pic here for emphasis on fugliness.

In addition to being a horrible shade of puke green and brown, it was 5 sizes too big for me. From the front I look like a kung-fu nerd. From the side I look like I'm pregnant. From the back, well, I don't know, but I fully intend to wear it with a pair of tight jeans in hopes that my ass would distract people from all that horrible green-ness.

You know what'd be the best accessory to go with this? A brown paper bag for my head.

Ah Laine is not my real name. For some reason my relatives like to call me that. I have been on a campaign to re-educate them, but Iraq is progressing better than the stubborn family I was born into. I blame my mother. If you think my nickname sounds a lot like "Ah Lian", you are wrong. VERY WRONG!

Chor Yat is the first day of CNY, where people visit the most respected members of the extended family.

Tai ka cheh is cantonese for eldest sister. Also triad slang for The Boss Lady, which I am not. Demure, sweet and sunshiny, that be me. *grins*

February 05, 2005

How to construct a sandwich in 10 seconds.

In the vein of my usual How-Tos, I've decided to forever damn sandwich-making by putting it in the list today. Not as brainless as this, but pretty close.

Pop sandwich meat into oven for 15 seconds. While waiting for the ding!, rip off enough clingfilm or foil to wrap 2 pieces of bread. This is the part that kills me, cos I either rip off too little, which results in some creative maneuvering (read: squashing) in order to get the whole thing wrapped, or I rip off too much, which is not a big deal but then mom goes on and on about wastage.

Sidenote: never put your tongue in a place where shit comes out of. Clingfilm (never ever foil) works nicely.

Lay out two pieces of wholemeal bread. When oven goes dingly ding, lick fingertips, grab meat directly from oven and fling it onto the general vicinity of where your bread is. When done correctly, this maneuver saves time. Given enough practice, the meat will land almost squarely on top of the bread. Beginners, it is mathematically impossible for you to hit the zone the first time around, so be prepared to wipe off various surfaces (table, chair, fan, brother's head) when you miss.

Layer lettuce (or any other green of your choice) and tomatoes, squirt some mustard on, cover with the other piece of bread and press. Not squash, honey, press. Then,wrap clingfilm so that the sandwich is nicely bundled up. Note that I use 'wrap' in the loosest sense of the word. As long as the stuff you plan to put in your mouth is covered, you're safe. Hurray, done!

If you're thinking that all that takes more time than stipulated in the title, you're right. But "Mom, can you make my sandwich for me?" takes all of 10 seconds. *evil grin*

Lesson in Life #39: If you do something incompetently enough, someone (usually your mom) will do it for you instead. That's why I blow up kitchens when I cook, uh huh.

February 04, 2005

My peace-loving, tree-hugging days are over

You know how they always tell us to be nice and polite when we were kids? I figure I've been screwed over.

I'm the grandkid who goes around the whole house calling everyone who's older than me. This practice may seem a bit weird to you (if you're from BF) but we've been indoctrinated to call "Granma" when we see granma and "6th uncle" when we see 6th uncle. "It's only polite to greet your elders," maternal granma squawked.

My younger cousins never do this; it's only me and my brother. I was never allowed to touch the fridge when I was a kid cos my maternal granpa was some sorta sadist. Needless to say, cold food was very seldom acquainted with my youthful mouth. Now, my younger cousins revel in chilled apple juice and ice-cream whenever they're at my maternal granma's house. Evidently, politeness flies straight out of the window when you're a generation younger. You see what I mean about getting screwed over?

I never talk back and people think I'm dumb. Hmm, wait, that actually plays to my advantage, so I'll stop whining about it. I smile at the people at the front desk and someone cuts into my line. Nevermind, have faith in the cashier person. Have faith that she will politely ask the friggin queue-jumper to, hey, why is she serving him instead? Grrr...

If I want my place back, I'm going to have to sock the guy over the head myself.

Being meek and accomodating gets you nowhere. People cut into your queue, they intimidate the heck out of you on the highways, they force you to do more work, they take advantage of you, blah blah list goes on. What's the point of saying thanks when all you get in return is a stony face? What's the point of being understanding if the other person's just going to do it again, and again, and again, until one day you lose it and glue the pages of his library book together?

The meek will only inherit the earth after the bold are done with it.

The other day I was called to the program office to explain my absences. I have documentation covering all my absences, which were caused by illness, hence legit, and still the program director chose to give me a hard time. My friend Geo, who's in the same predicament, was absent less than me and she was forced to defer her entire semester because the director was a bitch about it. That's RM 7K down the drain.

God damn I was pissed. I know how much power she has over me, and I know I'm not Indonesian, so can the bloody intimidation. I hate people who act like they're the Queen Bitch just because they have a plaque on their door. Wanna play staredown? Sure, I'm game. Wanna throw me off with sarcasm? Well, right back at you, bitch. I walked in knowing what I wanted to get out of this, and I walked out getting exactly what I wanted.

Courtesy campaign? Pah!I was very proud of myself. Being a counter-bitch suits me just fine.

Defer, means to give up this semester and rugi all the fees already paid, and to re-take the subjects I've already done halfway this semester, and pay the full fees again. Also means graduation will be delayed.

February 02, 2005

February compilation #1

'Tis the month of February. Thought I'd compile a list of gifts from Valentines past that struck a chord with me. Immitate at your own risk, and for personal health reasons always make sure the receiver has a sense of humour before proceeding.

Case Study #1
A friend of mine gave his girlfriend a plastic bottle full of panadol, meant to relieve a condition that commonly afflicts half of all the human beings on the face of this planet: chronic headaches.

They're still together, so I don't think his injuries were particularly life-threatening.

Case Study #2
A friend of mine was this close to receiving the fairytale Valentine's gift, a bouquet of 99 red roses wrapped with fluffy pink and white tissue paper. She got her bouquet...of dried roses that didn't cost RM10 a stalk. Boyfriend went up to Cameron Highlands for cheap flowers about a month in advance and dried them himself. I have to say he did a pretty great job of packing them into the tissue paper too, cos god only knows beautiful bouquets are extremely unwieldy to fashion unless you're a professional florist.

She would've killed him if he spent RM100 on flowers that would've been droopy in 2 days anyway.

That's all I can remember for now. I'll tack on more later when the old memory gets some juice and gets going.

Again, I cannot even begin to stress the extreme need for caution if you're thinking "Hey, this is a good way to perk up my Valentine's Day,". I happen to have crazy/weird friends who're reasonably open to pranks like these. When in doubt, don't. A repeat of the St Valentine's Day Massacre is not everyone's definiton of 'perking up'.

February 01, 2005

Dengue Pahtay!

Granma was discharged, and my bro was admitted for dengue fever. My house is like a fucking orgy-party-maksiat zone for mozzies.

The other day my mom came home from the hospital to find me furiously typing away at the computer trying to rush my assignments that were due the next day. Note the plural, heheh. She took one look at the plugs next to my PC and started lecturing me on the need to switch on the electric mosquito coil thingy.

Yes, I don’t know what it’s called. Or maybe I just forgot. I dunno.

Ever since half of the family was infected with the mozzie disease, we’ve been spraying the whole house with racun serangga perosak every single night. My family is probably single-handedly responsible for the peak in Ridsect’s 4th quarter sales. The electric mosquito coil thingy with the slightly-cheap-sweet-cologne smell is switched on almost 24/7, except when I forget. The uncle who sells the blue rectangle refills for the electric mosquito coil thingy positively genuflects (in a happy way) at the sight of me or my dad.

We’ve tried our best to wipe out all surviving mozzies in the family home. If there are any survivors left, we can all rest happily in the hospital beds with an IV tube up our left arms, peaceful in the knowledge that we’ve created a strain of super mutated Aedes mosquitoes that would only die if we nuked the whole of Cheras. (don’t even think of nodding, you Ah Beng haters you)

Oh man, I just found a mozzie bite on my neck. Die, spawn of the undead, DIE!

Note: If I get dengue, remember to come visit me at SJMC. I like grapes more than apples, and oranges above all. *grins*